It is about 5:00 AM and the train slowly chugs in the darkness towards a railway station.
I getup from my berth and stretch myself, sling my backpack on and walk towards the door.
I put my head out and I can feel the chill in the air and I see that we are slowly but surely inching towards a laid back station
Etched on the yellow concreted board “Bhadravathi”. The place where I was born and attached to it is fond memories galore
I step out of the train and the smell of charcoal is tingling the air, well not sure if everyone can smell it , but I surely can..It is the sweet strange burning smell of charcoal not far away from the Furnace of VISL Factory.
I feel the fresh air on my face and look around if I can find some coffee..No luck.
I step outside the station and it is cold outside…I look around…The buzz of people trying to get into Autorickshaw’s to their destinations….Within minutes…the crowd has melted away.
Some distance away, I see few people huddled around a small fire to keep themselves warm. Old tired legs of daily labor, supporting crumbling backs and eternally blessed by time weathered rugs
I find a small gaadi selling coffee. I treat myself to my first morning coffee. The drink which has defined me…the drink which breathes in a life into me….
I take the rickshaw to Old town and as the auto starts and moves on I hit the old bridge. Looking out, I see the first rays of sun hitting the not so clear waters of the once upon a time mighty river.
I smile to myself……..
There were days during the hot Summer Afternoon’s of yesteryears wherein me, my cousins would cycle 5-6 Kms, scale a 8 ft wall of a mosque and hit the Bhadra Channel.
Immersing ourselves in the Bhadra River and feeling the slightly cold water consume our warm sweaty bodies was paradise on earth. A joke or two with cousins, an ice candy on the way back and cycling bare foot…It was a full life….those moments are priceless
I am shaken up when our auto hits a pot hole on the road. The auto navigates these potholes at 10 Km/hr speed and I am clinging to the side bar to make sure I am not thrown around.
I pass through the main street of Old town and I am flooded with a barrage of thoughts….confusing and comforting…
As I look at the Old town police station and the Jain temple next to it and I am immediately taken back to those days when we I used to be a part of RSS at Bhadravathi.
We would enthusiastically participate in these meeting at Kanakamantapa. We didn’t know why we were there but we simply loved it. As kids, we didn’t understand either the motive of RSS or the political undercurrents of RSS
All we knew was go there and stand in line and do Surya namaskara and eat those mouth watering laddus on some special occasions.
On Raksha Bandan day the RSS team would gather at the Jain temple and we would get those orange bands which we would have to tie on our hands
More bands you have on your hand the more proud you feel proud and I remember I used to sometimes envy my friend Prakasha as he would manage to get hold of more than 2-3 bands
The road starts winding up slightly and I pass the Keshava Madhava mutt. I vividly remember the Diwali night when I stumbled across the steep steps and cut my forehead.
I barely remember what happened after that but what comes to my mind is the picture of a stout friendly doctor Chandramouli, whose love, sweet medicines and motorcycle ride’s never deterred me from seeing a doctor
I also remember the little open area outside the Mutt where me and my cousins would play literally till the cows came home.
This Mutt was my abode of happiness, my mysterical palace, my den of surprises, my playground and what I called my home in the first few years of my life
I clearly remember a little passage between the building and the Adjacent wall where you could barely squeeze through and come out at the other end
Whenever I would get into this little tunnel of mine, as a little kid I was scared, but the adventurous child in me would egg on. The little spiders on the wall, the creepy ants and the smell of moss would make my travel through this alice adventureland of mine an event to remember
The building remains even today but alas not the tunnel
Tied to these memories are the countless Saturday night’s I spent at adjacent Rama temple singing Bhajans and falling asleep, all the hard work for a morsel of yummy Prasadam…When I think of all this and those gone-by years, A twinkle lights up in my eye and there is a battle brewing between my eyelids and the eyes to hold the pearl drop of tear.
Eventually the eye lid win’s and the pearl drop is rescued from the clutches of its tormentor and falls to my lap....My eyes are moist....As you grow older.. the tear’s dry up but you cry more…What a contrast…to those glorious growing days
The auto rickshaw winds it way up and I hear the early birds waking to greet the morning glow..It is a divine jugalbandi of the morning sky and the chirping birds… It is always an eternal tie….you never can have a winner
The next 15-20 seconds, I see a mash-up, Collage of life. A young kid bidding good-bye rubbing his eyes to step-in to the real world from his beautiful dreams, An old lady welcoming the day break with beautiful rangoli in front of the house, the sweat smell of cowdung being smeared to the just wet ground, A priest taking his one of the many baths of the day, a Milkman cycling his way up the road with a smile of accomplishment on his way, the ringing of temple bells far away… As I soak into this mystic morning miracle the autorickshaw comes to a grinding halt
I am at my Grandma’s place, I get out of the auto and when I open the gate, the creaking sound welcomes me. I am ushered inside and then over a hot cup of coffee I exchange pleasantries.
As I mull over what to do next, I am overpowered by the tiredness of the journey and before I realize I am into a deep slumber
I am woken up by some frantic activity happening very close to me…It is the day of the water Supply….All the neighbors are busy ferrying loads of water to the house from a little tap right outside my house.
As I gingerly step outside, I see the bright sky, and the smiles of my neighbor …. Each Smile had a reason…..a feeling of happiness……”It is nice to see you again” when these words are uttered…. You feel this is where I belong…You feel like a lost traveler returning home…You feel gratified
The rest of the day I spend meeting friends, relatives and then as the Afternoon Sun has handed over the baton of life to the cooler evening, I take a stroll to the Narasimhaswamy temple.
As a young kid, this less than 0.5 mile would feel like eternity for me…and now I cover this distance in 10 minutes….The shops..the tiled houses..The mosque enroute… the hardly motorable road…has thousands of stories hidden in them… and I look around… I have a role to play in each of these stories…The Chandra’s shop where I would take the 25 Anna’s which my grandfather gave me to buy kodbale… The old bakery which sold some yummy Benne Biscuit… The drain which smelled awful in the morning, but had a melancholy of its own…The mosque which was mystifying to me all the time…I always wanted to see what is inside..but never dared to… The tiled houses on the other side of the road, where I had few friends, and the so-felt never ending compound of the temple, which I have clambered umpteen times just to get my kite flying few feet higher…. I just cant help smiling
As I enter the temple premises…I feel very light…I feel attracted…I feel divine..I feel satisfied…I feel accomplished….
As I bend down and enter the temple, the smell of camphor welcomes me, the oil lit lamp flickers with authority in the light breeze blowing into the temple..It was a question which I had to answer… What took to me so many days to come back?
While I am waiting and adoring the beautiful idol of Lord Narasimha, I am drawn towards the two old pictures hanging in front of the Garbagudi…Hiranksha and Hiranyakashipu
Here is where the stories told by my grandfather took life….As a young kid, these pictures would literally translate the stories my grandfather told me about lord Narasimha into a live play…Everytime I would look at these pictures, I would be mesmerized, scared deep with-in and feel the largeness of the lord. Even today more than 30 years later. I still can’t take my eyes of these pictures…While the picture has soiled and aged with time, it has left a lasting impression in my heart and mind
I step out of the temple and sit and take a parikrama of the temple… I feel a belonging to every stone.,,,Every piece of this temple. As I sit on the parapet, I look at the old tree next to the temple…The tree which has fuelled many of my dreams….this was the tree whose ripened fruits would provide me the adhesive for my kites….. This tree would provide the adrenalin rush and wake the adventurer in me trying to climb up its huge branches to pull off those fruits
Unlike me even after 30 years, this tree still stood looking at me and mocking with all its fruits…..The message was clear..
It was living old and I was dying Young in the materialistic world of mine
As I was returning home, I could see the sun setting in the west….the temple bells ringing…the not-so-bright orange street lights trying to ape the beautiful Evening setting with little success
As I was about to open the creaky gate and step into my house…I heard someone calling… I looked around…there was none….
I turned back and alighted those two little steps…knowing that this is place where I will always hear my name being called…. The place where I will always have a place of my own…Where my memories will always be treasured for generations…where my heart will always have a song to sing
I getup from my berth and stretch myself, sling my backpack on and walk towards the door.
I put my head out and I can feel the chill in the air and I see that we are slowly but surely inching towards a laid back station
Etched on the yellow concreted board “Bhadravathi”. The place where I was born and attached to it is fond memories galore
I step out of the train and the smell of charcoal is tingling the air, well not sure if everyone can smell it , but I surely can..It is the sweet strange burning smell of charcoal not far away from the Furnace of VISL Factory.
I feel the fresh air on my face and look around if I can find some coffee..No luck.
I step outside the station and it is cold outside…I look around…The buzz of people trying to get into Autorickshaw’s to their destinations….Within minutes…the crowd has melted away.
Some distance away, I see few people huddled around a small fire to keep themselves warm. Old tired legs of daily labor, supporting crumbling backs and eternally blessed by time weathered rugs
I find a small gaadi selling coffee. I treat myself to my first morning coffee. The drink which has defined me…the drink which breathes in a life into me….
I take the rickshaw to Old town and as the auto starts and moves on I hit the old bridge. Looking out, I see the first rays of sun hitting the not so clear waters of the once upon a time mighty river.
I smile to myself……..
There were days during the hot Summer Afternoon’s of yesteryears wherein me, my cousins would cycle 5-6 Kms, scale a 8 ft wall of a mosque and hit the Bhadra Channel.
Immersing ourselves in the Bhadra River and feeling the slightly cold water consume our warm sweaty bodies was paradise on earth. A joke or two with cousins, an ice candy on the way back and cycling bare foot…It was a full life….those moments are priceless
I am shaken up when our auto hits a pot hole on the road. The auto navigates these potholes at 10 Km/hr speed and I am clinging to the side bar to make sure I am not thrown around.
I pass through the main street of Old town and I am flooded with a barrage of thoughts….confusing and comforting…
As I look at the Old town police station and the Jain temple next to it and I am immediately taken back to those days when we I used to be a part of RSS at Bhadravathi.
We would enthusiastically participate in these meeting at Kanakamantapa. We didn’t know why we were there but we simply loved it. As kids, we didn’t understand either the motive of RSS or the political undercurrents of RSS
All we knew was go there and stand in line and do Surya namaskara and eat those mouth watering laddus on some special occasions.
On Raksha Bandan day the RSS team would gather at the Jain temple and we would get those orange bands which we would have to tie on our hands
More bands you have on your hand the more proud you feel proud and I remember I used to sometimes envy my friend Prakasha as he would manage to get hold of more than 2-3 bands
The road starts winding up slightly and I pass the Keshava Madhava mutt. I vividly remember the Diwali night when I stumbled across the steep steps and cut my forehead.
I barely remember what happened after that but what comes to my mind is the picture of a stout friendly doctor Chandramouli, whose love, sweet medicines and motorcycle ride’s never deterred me from seeing a doctor
I also remember the little open area outside the Mutt where me and my cousins would play literally till the cows came home.
This Mutt was my abode of happiness, my mysterical palace, my den of surprises, my playground and what I called my home in the first few years of my life
I clearly remember a little passage between the building and the Adjacent wall where you could barely squeeze through and come out at the other end
Whenever I would get into this little tunnel of mine, as a little kid I was scared, but the adventurous child in me would egg on. The little spiders on the wall, the creepy ants and the smell of moss would make my travel through this alice adventureland of mine an event to remember
The building remains even today but alas not the tunnel
Tied to these memories are the countless Saturday night’s I spent at adjacent Rama temple singing Bhajans and falling asleep, all the hard work for a morsel of yummy Prasadam…When I think of all this and those gone-by years, A twinkle lights up in my eye and there is a battle brewing between my eyelids and the eyes to hold the pearl drop of tear.
Eventually the eye lid win’s and the pearl drop is rescued from the clutches of its tormentor and falls to my lap....My eyes are moist....As you grow older.. the tear’s dry up but you cry more…What a contrast…to those glorious growing days
The auto rickshaw winds it way up and I hear the early birds waking to greet the morning glow..It is a divine jugalbandi of the morning sky and the chirping birds… It is always an eternal tie….you never can have a winner
The next 15-20 seconds, I see a mash-up, Collage of life. A young kid bidding good-bye rubbing his eyes to step-in to the real world from his beautiful dreams, An old lady welcoming the day break with beautiful rangoli in front of the house, the sweat smell of cowdung being smeared to the just wet ground, A priest taking his one of the many baths of the day, a Milkman cycling his way up the road with a smile of accomplishment on his way, the ringing of temple bells far away… As I soak into this mystic morning miracle the autorickshaw comes to a grinding halt
I am at my Grandma’s place, I get out of the auto and when I open the gate, the creaking sound welcomes me. I am ushered inside and then over a hot cup of coffee I exchange pleasantries.
As I mull over what to do next, I am overpowered by the tiredness of the journey and before I realize I am into a deep slumber
I am woken up by some frantic activity happening very close to me…It is the day of the water Supply….All the neighbors are busy ferrying loads of water to the house from a little tap right outside my house.
As I gingerly step outside, I see the bright sky, and the smiles of my neighbor …. Each Smile had a reason…..a feeling of happiness……”It is nice to see you again” when these words are uttered…. You feel this is where I belong…You feel like a lost traveler returning home…You feel gratified
The rest of the day I spend meeting friends, relatives and then as the Afternoon Sun has handed over the baton of life to the cooler evening, I take a stroll to the Narasimhaswamy temple.
As a young kid, this less than 0.5 mile would feel like eternity for me…and now I cover this distance in 10 minutes….The shops..the tiled houses..The mosque enroute… the hardly motorable road…has thousands of stories hidden in them… and I look around… I have a role to play in each of these stories…The Chandra’s shop where I would take the 25 Anna’s which my grandfather gave me to buy kodbale… The old bakery which sold some yummy Benne Biscuit… The drain which smelled awful in the morning, but had a melancholy of its own…The mosque which was mystifying to me all the time…I always wanted to see what is inside..but never dared to… The tiled houses on the other side of the road, where I had few friends, and the so-felt never ending compound of the temple, which I have clambered umpteen times just to get my kite flying few feet higher…. I just cant help smiling
As I enter the temple premises…I feel very light…I feel attracted…I feel divine..I feel satisfied…I feel accomplished….
As I bend down and enter the temple, the smell of camphor welcomes me, the oil lit lamp flickers with authority in the light breeze blowing into the temple..It was a question which I had to answer… What took to me so many days to come back?
While I am waiting and adoring the beautiful idol of Lord Narasimha, I am drawn towards the two old pictures hanging in front of the Garbagudi…Hiranksha and Hiranyakashipu
Here is where the stories told by my grandfather took life….As a young kid, these pictures would literally translate the stories my grandfather told me about lord Narasimha into a live play…Everytime I would look at these pictures, I would be mesmerized, scared deep with-in and feel the largeness of the lord. Even today more than 30 years later. I still can’t take my eyes of these pictures…While the picture has soiled and aged with time, it has left a lasting impression in my heart and mind
I step out of the temple and sit and take a parikrama of the temple… I feel a belonging to every stone.,,,Every piece of this temple. As I sit on the parapet, I look at the old tree next to the temple…The tree which has fuelled many of my dreams….this was the tree whose ripened fruits would provide me the adhesive for my kites….. This tree would provide the adrenalin rush and wake the adventurer in me trying to climb up its huge branches to pull off those fruits
Unlike me even after 30 years, this tree still stood looking at me and mocking with all its fruits…..The message was clear..
It was living old and I was dying Young in the materialistic world of mine
As I was returning home, I could see the sun setting in the west….the temple bells ringing…the not-so-bright orange street lights trying to ape the beautiful Evening setting with little success
As I was about to open the creaky gate and step into my house…I heard someone calling… I looked around…there was none….
I turned back and alighted those two little steps…knowing that this is place where I will always hear my name being called…. The place where I will always have a place of my own…Where my memories will always be treasured for generations…where my heart will always have a song to sing
3 comments:
Really mesmerizing combination of nostalgia, experience and emotion all rolled into one piece. Must say I enjoyed reading every single line and word, simply very well put and I felt I was one amongst the boys playing with you in those gullies and compounds in b'vati. Awesome...
-Kiran
Fantastic, nostalgic and very touching. I clearly remember you falling down and blood was pouring out of your forehead on the diwali night and chandramouli doc put stitches I guess.Guess we were not even 3 yrs old . I remember the narrow passage next to Keshava madahva theertha mutt, going to rama temple for prasada and you doing off is also fresh in my memory ...thats all I can remember . Why is that you remember so much but I hardly have any memories :(
I have not seen bhadravathi so much but through your journey or memories it came alive or to say live. You remember so many things about your childhood but I don't remember the incidents of my childhood.
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